Contrary to what France might hope, Germany was not as uninformed as he might seem.
No, not in the uninformed as in war tactical and other matters concerning military and politics; every nation in the world knew how much the German excelled beyond some others (especially France himself) in those departments. It's the uninformed as in, regarding his past histories.
As in, the time before he was born, to be more exact.
France had thought that, as a good-protective older brother he kept insisting he was, Prussia would not tell him regarding all matters about 'him' in all condition, in fear of the old painful memories resurfacing to his mind ("All those painful years of endless battles and a dying mind and unfulfilled love; you are not that cruel to make him remember, are you, Prussia?" France had told to Prussia once). And while this was true, Prussia still failed to prevent his youngest brother into knowing this painful past.
The 'Germany' everyone knew today was born in a very bad time, when everyone in Europe was rising into power and nearly at the stake of war. A mere child at the midst of old nations ready to cock guns and proclaim war at any time; what was he to Europe but a fragile mirror, ready to break at any given time? Prussia cared too much about his brother's being; the Prussian knew he just couldn't sent his brother -still a child!- into a battlefield or else that would be suicide. That's why during his youth Prussia took most of his government and led it as a proxy of him. In truth, only because of the old German Federation Germany could survive all of those bad times—in isolation.
Prussia cared too much about his brother's well-being he wouldn't even let the child be touched by any other humans beside their family or Austria and Hungary.
Merely a brother instinct; Prussia couldn't imagine what would initiate if little Germany happened to face Italy or France again. The best he could imagine was just the child throwing a tantrum (or just stare in shock, really. The child had been an obedient kid—too obedient sometimes it sickened him), or worse came to worst—more spilled blood.
Prussia knew that sooner or latter, Germany would meet with France again. Just not this soon. Not when his mind was not ready.
That's why Prussia had kept him in the mansion in nearly all his youth, telling Germany to learn well while he mend the newly-built government. Germany also remembered being told to never leave the mansion except ordered. And thus Germany spent most of his time training and learning to catch up with the rest of Europe (just like his brother had told him to). It was probably one of the rare times Germany was thankful he had so many brothers he got to learn most subjects from the best*.
At first he was tired for all of the excessive trainings his brothers had taught him. His complains were not heeded ("Complain all you want, little brother, and you'd be dead the next time we meet," said Bradenburg), and sleep was his only rest throughout the day. Then, one day he stopped complaining. Another day, it had become a monotonous habit for him.
Books were a must at first, then it became his hobby. He just didn't know when it had evolved to be his mean to escape loneliness.
Books, also, were the 'bridge' that led little Germany to him.
It was one night in the middle of August when he first 'found him'. The now-adolescent Germany was dismissed of his war-training from Bavaria for the day. He didn't find the mean to sleep yet, for he was not sleepy nor tired, and turned for the library. He settled himself in one of the chairs and took a book about history—the history of Germans. For some reason, Prussia had never taught him much about history. Yes, Prussia did teach him about The Romans and The Germanic Tribes ("And yes, Germany, Germania was our grandpa." Prussia was still for the moment, before he corrected himself with a big, unnatural laugh. "Grand-grandpa for you." This action did not escape Germany's eyes, but he chose to remain silent.), the land in the East, some knowledge about his neighbouring countries like France and Italy (Germany remembered at the lesson about Italy, Prussia was quiet for sometimes), even a bit of Africa, but never his past history or even the reason why he was born.
He surely just couldn't be born out from the ash, could he?
Maybe it was curiousity—the mean to simply know. Maybe it was diligence—he was known to be very prone at reading for six hours straight, anyway. Maybe it was merely boredom—the lack of excitement and the distant touch of his brothers'. Or maybe it was his instinct—instinct to find his old-self. An instinct he was not aware of yet at the time, until he was told by his very old-self himself some time in the future.
And so Germany was reading thoughtfully. Glancing at the table of contents to find something that pique his interest. He didn't find any that was interesting and decided to turn for some random page instead, and found himself reading the Napoleonic War. Aah, yes. He remembered about Prussia telling that he was once France's Boss, but never past that.
Never.
He read for a while, and when he saw those words—
Hol—
Images struck his weak, fragile mind.
Screams.
Blood.
Sword.
Blond hair swaying in the great wind as he fell onto the hard grounds.
And a voice, eerily familiar with those of his brother's.
"Holy Roman Emp—,"
"Germany?"
He snapped back from his thought, and quickly looked up to see where the voices had come from. It was Prussia's, whose owner had been standing beside him with a troubled looks, hand on Germany's shoulder. The red-eyed man quickly noticed the book he had been reading, and snatched it from his grip. "I thought I have told you that you are to sleep in this time of day?"
Ah.
Good evening.
Should I say thank you?
My se—
"Ah-." He was lost at words for a mere moment, eyes leering to the left and the right in frantic movements. But just before Prussia had questioned him what was wrong, Germany had already answered, "-yes. I'm really sorry, brother. I will go to bed right away."
Prussia continued to stare at him with undescribeable emotion that it made him drenched in cold sweat, but the tension was broken with the older man's hefty laugh and a slap on his back. "Yes, yes. I think I'm just gonna escort you to your room, little emperor. Want me to also read you bedtime story about an emperor and his awesome knight older brother?"
He shook his head. "I-I do not think that is necessary..."
"Ha! Then come on; go along, boy! A powerful country like you need to have a good bed time to reserve his strength!"
Prussia patted him once again on the back, and it made him move away from his chair, following his older brother who had walked towards the door already. Little Germany rushed to his side, and (for one rare time in his entire life), clung his hand onto the cloth of his brother's trousers as if it was a life-pole.
What was that? That images and voices? And voice and blood and sword and that body of a blond man pointing it to him?
And those words?
And the feeling of someone looking at you—
His terrified blue eyes glanced back, and when he saw it—him—little Germany merely shut them back.
That night, after Prussia had tucked him into the bed, the little boy couldn't help but ask for the older brother to sleep with him that night. The Prussian just laughed at this, and happily tucked himself into the bed beside his younger brother. But for Germany, it was no laughing matter.
He just couldn't ignore the image of a blond boy with black cloak standing still in the library before.
"You know, I'd do myself."
"Sorry?"
Prussia was staring at a mirror, flexing his muscles and potraying comical expressions in various angles.
"I mean, I'm just the perfect being to ever alive, yes! Snow-silvery locks, shining in the moonlight... Blood-shot red orbs, glinting mischievously... Palid skin as if crystal, like a vampire... I'm just SO awesome I'd totally do myself."
"How absurd." On the couch, Germany sighed, closing the book he had been reading. "That's impossible."
"You're not cool. Everything is possible for the awesome Prussia."
He knew better not to argue this kind of thing (no, scratch that—everything) with Prussia, since no matter how logical (or rational) his answers were, Prussians would always argue back. So with that, he got up from the couch and turned for his room, ignoring the ex-nation who was still standing in front of the mirror.
He just knew that, in the morning, he's going to need to wipe that mirror from any stain that might be there.
He closed the door to his room, and sighed ferventfully. Solitude was always the best comfort for someone who liked quietness like him. Germany put back the book (for those who were curious, was entitled 'How to Comfort an Italian for Dummies') in the respective selves, free of dust and also stacked neatly. A single sound of 'tick' from a machine above distracted him from the selves—he saw that it was a clock hanging above striking itself to midnight. Yes, a good time to be done for the day.
He turned to see the body-sized mirror standing proudly on the far-corner of his room and slipped off from his clothes, only leaving him with his favorite black sleeveless shirt and shorts. He stacked his outwear in the corner, just beside the mirror, and for the last time, looked again at the mirror. An attire all ready to turn for the bed, yet the German didn't move an inch from where he was standing in front of the mirror, only staring unto the reflective surface.
Prussia's words seemed to distract him from the bed. Yes; that particular, irrational, illogical wish the red-eyed man said when he was looking at himself in the mirror.
A man in the mirror, Germany saw. Tall and muscular. Jaw-lines lined perfect in that face. And hair—he rose one of his hand, and deliberately started to mess his hair so his bangs would fall onto his face. And there—blond locks. 'His' blond locks.
It reminded him again that he hadn't showed up for a while.
And what he did in the end was to sigh wistfully, before turning off the only source of the light in room and headed for his bed instead.
A sudden shift and soft rustle in the bed awaken him from his dreamless sleep. At first he thought it was Italy, and nearly fall into slumber again, choosing to ignoring the usual habit the Italian always did for the night, before Germany remembered that the brunet had called in yesterday to say that he's going to Japan in a diplomatic trip for a week. Italy was absent, and even his boss wouldn't allow him to waste money for a plane to Germany just so the Italian could sleep with him for a night before going back to Japan again. Prussia was also out of the question. Mischievous he might be, but the older brother had never gone that far to assault him in his sleep (Germany considered that Prussia might had taken a new hobby: assaulting him in his sleep. But it seemed unlikely).
It didn't take long 'till his question was answered with a voice eeriely similar to his own.
"Ah. Good evening. I know that you're awake."
His eyes shot like a flare.
"And I see that you were missing me." It voiced again.
So much like Prussia, just less haughty and obnoxious.
"O-of course... not—,"
The man rolled back to the other side, pulling the blanket off Germany and used it to cover himself instead to further annoy him. Germany grumbled, now that the cold wind was free to sting his uncovered skin any time. And how did it sting.
"No point in denying. I saw you clearly looking at me that time."
No, scratch that—he was more haughty than Prussia.
"So now it's a crime to look at yourself in the mirror."
The other man chuckled. "I know you, Germany. It's some wistful eyes you have there. I've them back in the nine hundreth."
He turned around, and Germany faced him. Blue eyes that darkened at the top of the irises, slightly covered by the golden bangs although the dim room made it as if they were grey, and a rough jaw-line that lined perfectly in his face.
"I mean, I am you."
As if looking at a mirror mask.
Germany sighed, and whispered, "Holy Roman Empire."
Holy Roman Empire nodded, and then they stayed silent for a while. Not until Germany started to initiate a conversation again.
"Why are you here?"
"You called. I came." Holy Roman Empire saw that Germany was looking at him in a funny way, and rephrased his words with a stutter. "Wha—of course I didn't mean it in that way. It must be because of you thinking too much of what Teutonic Knights s-said before."
"N-no, I'm..." He didn't finish his sentences when suddenly he realized the wind had no longer stung anymore. Probably have something to do with how the room grew hotter... (Dear, it's all because of that silly misinterpretation...) Or it's just him? Or maybe it's just because that now there's two people to occupy the bed? And Germany also saw each of his counterpart's cheeks become darker—which will be an obvious pink should the time is day.
Holy Roman Empire flustered, and covered the bottom half of his face under the blanket in shame. Germany could feel his face becoming even darker than before.
"I can't believe it," Germany said in the end when he felt that it was comfortable enough to continue the conversation.
"What?"
"You coming here for something that I thought was a joke. Yes, I did think about you that time, but..." He stopped making himself clear, and averted his gaze from the his other self. Holy Roman Empire reacted with an undescribeable expression.
"You know that I know that you—err, we both know that that will be so wrong, right? I mean, I've always... reserved myself for Italy, not to... you know, myself."
Germany's face grew horrified by this, making him to stand up from the bed and shooting his other self a very disgusted look. "You mean you have had things to Italy since you were children? No wonder Prussia is so messe-,"
"Of course not, y-you fool!" The Holy Roman Empire also stood up on the bed, throwing a pillow that hit Germany directly on the face. He seemed to be not bothered calling (technically) himself a 'fool'. "My love towards Italy was pure! It's because of that one night you decide to sneak to Teuton's room and found-,"
"I do not wish to remember that night." Germany hissed, and narrowed his eyes dangerously. "And so do you."
And Holy Roman Empire grew silent.
Germany sighed for the second time of the night, and stepped back into the bed. The blanket had unscrewed itself from the Holy Roman Empire because of his outburst, and so Germany made it to cover himself once again. Still, he let a half-part of the blanket unoccupied, meaning to share them with his other self. Just like any other nights when he was left alone at home.
Holy Roman Empire knew this, and let himself also be tangled within the crevice of the blanket. He settled his head on the second pillow (that Germany had picked up from the floor before), and his face met the broad back of Germany. It was his back, he noticed, moving in a stable routine as he sucked breath. Like looking into two-way mirrors, except that this reflection was as real as a person could get.
Then Germany felt a face being snuggled to his back, while two large hands—feels so much like his hands...—found their way to tangle themselves with his body. Close. It's as if their outbursts before had never existed. Arguments like this—they had many back in the past years. One that involved much disgusted and in disbelief looks but never contained shouting nor violence. It simply vanished into the thin air just after they had finished letting out their steam to each other (although it's mostly Germany to Holy Roman Empire, thanks to all the stress of a personification of a powerful European nation).
His hand is not showing any sign of wanting to move yet.
He was never a person of affection. A single physical contact should do enough to make his face blush furiously. But never his touches—Holy Roman Empire's. It's comfortable. He even felt that this was natural. Probably has something to do with how his body is his, too.
They stayed like this for a moment, before Holy Roman Empire asked out of the blue, "When did we first meet again?"
"It's before the twentieth century. Just exactly which year I don't remember."
"In the library, wasn't it?"
"Yes. I retrieved you back-," from what? His body? His sealed-memories? Death? "-then."
They were silent for a moment passing.
"Do you regret it?"
"What?"
"Regret finding me—thus knowing the past?"
He turned his head back to see those darkened-blue eyes looking at him with solemn. Eyes belonging to the same face with his. And blinked.
A sword that speared through him.
Germany shut his eyes.
As he grew, he had eventually learnt that the boy with the same body as his that tagged along wherever he went was not merely his imaginary friend, for he never got to get past over it, even though he was nearing the end of adolescence. He was a manifestation of his past self: the Holy Roman Empire—a presence that refused to die and continued to live inside of him. He didn't talk much (just like himself), yet had become Germany's best friend for over the years, even offering some advices and what-not. And he was not kidding when much of his actions in the past were driven because of said past-self. It sometimes left him with conflicted feelings. There had been instances where he had the sudden urge to maim France (and even had done it in World War 2), having identity crisises of wether Germany or Holy Roman Empire existed (although the latter had assured him that they both existed and, might the time came when one should perish, he would be the one to), and even questioning his love towards Italy (and to this one, he simply replied that they both loved him).
But never regret. Never. He was even grateful. Holy Roman Empire was a great company along the time when he was feeling isolated—alone in this world. Allies might betray, friends might leave, but never him.
He had never left him.
Friending Germany was, for the lack of terms, suprisingly easy. He was a bit expectant for the boy to scream when he saw him appearing out of nowhere in a lonely night. But when he appeared all he did was to stare in shock (still he could see that the little boy was terrified, seeing the hands clutching to the duvet were trembling).
"Who are you?" little Germany asked, with a voice so small someone could mistake it as a squeak of that of a mouse.
Holy Roman Empire cocked his head to the side and smiled. "I am you." It, however, left Germany to furrow his eyebrows and frowned. "Then, who am I?"
The other boy touched his chest, smile never faltered. "You're Germany." Then he touched his own chest. "I'm Holy Roman Empire." And with his other hand, touched Germany's chest again while never leaving his. "We're different, but the same."
Germany's hands rose and kept the hand on his chest within his palm.
"Same."
The other boy nodded. "Same."
"But, if we're the same, how can you be here?"
His blue eyes gazed towards the other, finding those darkened blue irises to be troubled as well. In the end, what the former empire did was only a shake of the head.
"I am simply be, I think. I don't know much either. The only thing I know is that we'll never be separated. Are you mad?"
A stare of nonchalance and yet the same time that curiousity of a child they both hold. Innocent children that did not question further one that had no answer; simply accepting them with a smile on the face.
"No. I don't know either since brother have not taught me about it yet, but I'm..." he finished with a large blush forming on both of his cheeks. "...happy."
A feeling of being accepted. He didn't expect that the personification of the land of Germany would accept him very easily, especially considering that Germany was very terrified of him (mistaking him to be one of England's 'friends' that Prussia had the pleasure of rumoring) during their first encounter. At first the Holy Roman Empire's expression was that of disbelief, and then that of relief, before evolving into that of shyness.
"...Really?"
Little Germany's hand crept up to Holy Roman Empire's long black cloak that was spread in disarray on the bed. It clung to the fabric tightly, while the owner of those little fingers smiled for the first time of their conversation.
"A 'friend', then, -Prussia told me the word- is you, right? A 'friend' -Prussia told me- will never leave?"
Holy Roman Empire's expression became one that was of happiness.
"Of course."
Germany suddenly prodded himself up from the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, while the other man furrowed his brows.
"Germany-?"
"I..."
The bed suddenly shifted again. Turning back, he could see now that his other self had sat himself up on the bed as well, looking at him straight with those darkened blue eyes.
"What are you thinking?"
"And I thought you could read my mind?"
"Haven't I told you already? We're same, but different. Same body but not the mind. The closest equivalent of our case in real life is twins. They can't read the other's mind, but being twins, similar personalities led to thinking the mostly same thing. In other words, it's just a guess."
And he talked big with this 'I am you' thing. Maybe it was simply proof that they both did not know exactly what they were.
Germany smiled in both teasing and mocking way. "Then guess."
It didn't take long for Holy Roman Empire to catch up with this gesture, and smiled this teasing-yet-mocking smile.
Twins or not, they understood each other. And that was all that mattered.
The duvet stirred with each movement the Holy Roman Empire made. Without much talking, soon the former empire had been within reach of Germany's grasps. And so the hands grasped onto the long black cloak that was spread in dissaray on the bed. Words were not necessary for the both of them—only sharing longful glances in both of their eyes, before they soon found themselves hugging each other in an embrace that warm the cold night.
Hasn't it been like this since they were little kids? Clinging to each other when there was storm, hugging to each other when there was sadness. Everything they shares with the other.
A smile was on Holy Roman Empire's lips, before he shrugged. "I think we both compherend that there's no need to say that."
"Since you're not very good at socialisation skill?" Germany joked, tangling his hand with his other-self's.
"Look who's talking."
"Yourself."
"Ha. Very creative."
Germany laughed at this, and so did Holy Roman Empire. And when they had had their good laugh, Germany smiled, and hugged his other self closer to him.
"I don't want to be accused of being not creative by my self, and since I want to let my feeling across..."
He planted a kiss on his counterpart's forehead, and continued in a whisper:
"...I love you."
Holy Roman Empire smiled sincerely, and imitated the gesture.
A dying mind—it means a mad one.
When have a nation never gone mad? Now that he himself is mad as well, for falling in love with himself.
A madman that loves himself—another mad man who gave birth to him.
Is this allowed? Is this platonic? Or purely a tainted love that shall not even exist? How about his, or rather, their other love? He just knows that he loves him. And that is all that matters.
The face that he touches, the smirk that he sees, the lisps that he kisses, the irises that reflect,
just like a mirror mask.
Prussia looked up to the ceiling from his bed. His room was located in the first story of the house, while his brother's was in the second. Just directly below, to be exact. So the Prussian could hear any noise coming above from his room.
That included the slightest noises.
"They're so freaking loud," Prussia commented, scratching the back of his head. "And they act as if the awesome me does not know a shit about this. Be thankful that I've been silent all this time and kept them both by themselves! Seriously, after all of that, couldn't they just give awesome men an awesome time for themselves?"
"Eeh, just ignore them; it's their first time after all," the other Prussia look-alike who sat in front of Prussia said. Then, the Teutonic Knights grinned from ear to ear. "Well, should we resume our 'business'?"
"Yes, yes. Now where were we..."
* I don't know much of the other German States' excellences (Hesse, Bradenburg, Bavaria, and Holstein) AKA his brothers (those four along with Prussia and Saxony), but Saxony sure as hell got mentioned a lot in my Economic and Accountant classes. You know, those Anglo-Saxons and their obsessiveness at Maths? Well, Anglo-Saxons refer to England, still, but it HAS Saxon! And, of course, Prussia goes without saying is very excellent at battle. He's the Teutonic Knight for crying out loud! (So is Bradenburg, I recently found out. But, eh, I decided to leave it as they way it is)
A/N: Made just because of Rule 36. And the author's unfulfilled selfcest fetish in the Hetalia fandom. Seriously, there's an unhealthy amount of IchiHichi and SoraRoxas out there—why is there not a single HREGermany? And PrussiaPrussia on that matter. There is some out there, but never downright selfcest. And, sorry, no lemony goodness even though I said Rule 36. I'm too much weak-hearted to writing something like lemon :P
Last but not least, mind giving me some reviews? I always welcome critiques for my horrid English. Please, if you will, do the pleasure of pointing my mistakes!